


too much to discuss

by Windmire



Series: irresistibly electric [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Implied Past Relationships, M/M, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 03:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14728886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windmire/pseuds/Windmire
Summary: So, "Okay," he says on a laugh. "Okay, okay, I just have to go convince the ex-spy to come back out of retirement to help the guy who pretends he'snota spy.""I'm not a spy." The response is almost automatic by now and Dick grins in answer.It should be a quick enough job to find the guy Bruce is looking for. Dick's just not counting on running into an old "friend" on the way.





	too much to discuss

"Look who's here," A voice, somewhere between amused and exasperated, greets Dick when he steps off the elevator. And what better welcome could he ask for?

"Good to see you, too, Clara." He grins at her, setting his hands down on the edge of her desk. "Is Bruce ready to see me yet?"

"I'm sure I have no idea, seeing as he didn't bother to tell _his secretary_ he was expecting company," she tells him sternly, though there's a smile playing at the edge of her lips.

He shrugs sheepishly. "Aw, really? I've told him to tell you, I swear!"

"Just go in," she says, already turning back to her computer. "If he changes his mind and says I should've stopped you, I was too busy making a call for Mister Fox to notice you, all right?"

"You got it!" He gives her a jaunty little salute and heads straight to the door on the left behind her desk.

He doesn't bother to knock, just pushes the door open and barges right in.

But Bruce? He doesn't even look up, barely even twitches when Dick makes sure to slam the door behind him.

Huh. Must be serious then.

Well, he knows how to deal with this by now. Easy.

"B!" he greets, bounding right up to where Bruce is leaning over the table in the center of the room. "So I heard you wanted to see me?"

"A couple hours ago," Bruce finally says, still not looking up. "Did something come up on the way?"

Dick rests his elbows on the table and leans forward, craning his head to look at what Bruce is so focused on. But he doesn't manage more than a glimpse of his tablet and a stack of papers beside it before Bruce's arm is blocking his view again. "Oh, you know, the usual! Distance, traffic, you leaving a message on a different phone every time."

Bruce straightens up and actually _looks_ at Dick now, raising his eyebrows. "I'll send a message to each of your phones next time," he says, raising an eyebrow.

Dick holds back a sigh. Well, that's one way to do it. But at least that tactic worked for a while. "Very funny, Bruce. Are you going to tell me what this is all about yet?"

Bruce doesn't quite smile, but Dick doesn't miss the flash of amusement in his eyes. "You'd already know if you'd gotten here earlier." Despite his words, he picks up the tablet and hands it to Dick. "We have trouble. Possibly League-related."

"Gotcha. So," Dick says slowly, scrolling through the information Bruce has open on the tablet. A news article, another news article, and another, all about Wayne Enterprises. "Are we talking about your ex's League or your _other_ ex's League?" 

He doesn't even have to look up to _feel_ the dirty look Bruce gives him.

But he tilts his chin up anyway, shooting Bruce a wide-eyed innocent look. Bruce won't buy it for a second, of course, but it's the thought that counts, right?

"Keep looking," is all he says, an edge to his voice.

Dick dutifully looks back down at the tablet, scrolling to the next saved article and... Ah. A Daily Planet news article on Wayne Enterprises--and quite the unflattering one, at that. He scrolls back up to the byline and has to hold back a grin. Oh, he should have known. Clark Kent. "Never mind. It's your _other_ ex's League."

Truth is he has no idea whether Bruce and Kent ever dated or anything. He's leaning toward _yes_ , but it's not like he's going to get any kind of confirmation any time soon, nor is he trying that hard to find out. Bruce's reactions every time he brings it up though? Priceless.

He lets out a low whistle when he scrolls back down on the tablet. "Wow, Bruce. You and Kord industries did _what_?" He sets the tablet down and glances at Bruce. "Sounds to me like there are some things here he really shouldn't know. The 'someone was listening in on a board meeting' type of shouldn't know. So I guess my question is, is it some very thorough _investigative journalism_ or your ex trying to send you a message?"

Dick has to hold back a laugh at the way Bruce _twitches_.

"When Clark's involved? He's trying to tell me something. There's no other reason he'd do this."

"You're the one who knows the guy." Dick shrugs. "So what is it you need? Someone who can find out who told him everything?"

"No." Bruce crosses his arms behind his back. "I've got some ideas there. What I need is someone who can look into some old associates." Here, Bruce turns back to the stack of papers on the table.

Interest piqued, Dick leans closer. "Personnel files, on paper. How old school of you, Bruce," he teases.

"I told you, they're old associates. Here."

He hands Dick a file, from which a two by two picture of a man stares back at him. He squints. The guy looks a little familiar, but he can't quite place him. Maybe from his old job.

Lord knows he saw enough people on that job. But he shakes the thought away and asks, "And what happens when I find this guy?"

"Then you tell him I've heard he's not very fond of the League lately and ask him if he's willing to work with me this time. Because I think they're gearing up for something."

"Because of an article? Seriously?"

"Because of an article," Bruce says wryly. "I know how they work. Clark wouldn't know this much if it wasn't serious." He shakes his head. "As far as I know, he retired with his husband and daughter a few years ago, but I don't think it will take that much convincing."

Dick raises an eyebrow. "You real sure of that? I think if I retired, I'd _stay_ retired." He pauses and concedes, "Not that I _can_ retire anytime soon."

"You wouldn't," Bruce says, sounding so sure of himself that Dick has to stop and stare.

But Bruce doesn't elaborate and Dick knows Bruce well enough by now to be able to tell that, judging by the vaguely thoughtful look on his face, he's not about to even if asked.

So, "Okay," he says on a laugh. "Okay, okay, I just have to go convince the ex-spy to come back out of retirement to help the guy who pretends he's _not_ a spy. And let me guess, I'll find out more once I actually talk to him? Piece of cake."

"I'm not a spy." The response is almost automatic by now and Dick does let himself grin in answer. No real answer, huh?

"Right, right," he says, folding the file into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Well, if that's all..."

Bruce's hand on his shoulder stops him just as he's beginning to turn away. "Dick. If anyone can do it, you can."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Anything else I should worry about?"

Bruce pulls his hand back, brow furrowing. Oh great. There _is_ something. "I've been hearing rumors about a man calling himself the Red Hood. I haven't had the chance to meet him yet, but both Tim and Stephanie have reported run-ins with him." He frowns, more than usual, at that. "They said it sounded like he was after them, specifically."

"Yeah? What happened?"

"Neither of them stayed for very long. But they both reported a man in a red hood--"

"That's a little on the nose," Dick mutters. Bruce ignores him.

"--who seemed to be trying to pick a fight with each of them. Aggressively. You wouldn't know anything about someone going by that name, would you?"

Dick lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "No. I've gotta tell you, I must really be out of touch by now. Red Hood isn't a name I recognize at all."

"Keep an eye out, then. We don't know nearly enough about this man."

Dick gives him a small smile. "Yeah, I'll watch out. No worries." He doubts the guy's anything he can't handle anyway, but it pays to be prepared.

"Thank you," Bruce says, even as he's already moving toward his desk. "Good luck, Nightwing."

"Sure thing. Say hi to Alfred for me, will you?"

And with that, Dick's right back out of the office and on his way out of the building.

Time to get to work.

-

The flight from Gotham isn't a very long one, but it gives him enough time to review the file a few times.

Lucas Trent's the guy he's looking for. Not a name he recognizes, but that doesn't exactly mean much anymore.

Husband: Andrew Pulaski. Daughter: Jennifer Quarx. Trent's own happy ending, all tucked away in an apartment in good old Opal City.

Dick taps his fingers against the file, clenching his jaw. It almost feels... wrong to go and intrude now, when Trent's gone and made his own life outside of this all. It feels a little like maybe he should be turning right back around and telling Bruce to find someone else for whatever he's got planned.

Yeah, dealing with the people Bruce works against is just what he _does_ now and this isn't even the first time he's had to go and recruit someone for that. And Trent can make his own decisions once Dick shows up. But does he really have any right to intrude on his new life? When he could just let the guy go on as he is?

He doesn't know. It probably doesn't matter.

(The fact that it's the kind of life Dick's not sure he'll ever be able to afford to have is... probably not something he should dwell on. Not now and probably not ever.)

"I hope you know what you're doing, B," he mutters to himself, turning his head toward the window.

Dick doesn't go straight for the Trent-Pulaskis when his flight lands in Opal City though. He doesn't check in with Bruce, but he does send a quick message off to Tim, and another to Babs. Tim doesn't answer right away, but Babs sends him a shot of himself from what looks like one of the airport's security cameras and he makes sure to wink directly at the next one he sees.

It's just starting to get dark by the time he's outside the airport, bag slung over his shoulder, and he figures he'll take the scenic route rather than hail a taxi or take the train. The apartment he's looking for is only a walk and a bus ride away from the airport, and it's been years since the last time he was in Opal City, anyway. If he hurries, he can even still make it to Trent's place before whatever his kid's bedtime is. 

So he lets himself take in the sights once he's off the airport's shuttle, hopefully away from most security cameras this time, and takes a leisurely, winding path to the bus stop he needs.

It's one block away from it that he realizes someone's watching him.

He grins to himself. Well, what do you know?

There's a moment where he debates drawing whoever's following him out into the open, but all it takes is one look at the people around him for that idea to go out the window. No. No putting people in danger when he doesn't know what kind of person is following him. That much, at least, he's been able to remain firm in all these years.

Rolling his eyes at himself, Dick ducks into the nearest alley, hands in his pockets, casual as can be. When he hears footsteps behind him--deliberate, must be if they're following him--he stops and whirls around. "Can I help you?" He grins, bright and easy.

The man following him doesn't answer right away, only keeps walking toward Dick, face obscured by his hood. Dick keeps himself relaxed though, smile still on his face. 

When he's close enough to see, the man stops, lifts his head, and says, "Seriously? You don't recognize me? Goodness gracious, I'm hurt, Agent 37."

Dick freezes, eyes widening. _That voice_. He has to be imagining it.

"Redbird," he breathes, realizing even as he says it that _yes_. That's exactly who the voice belongs to. It's him, it has to be him.

The man hooks a finger into the red bandanna at his mouth and pulls it down, and Dick's breath catches in his throat.

That's a face he's not used to seeing bare. And for a split-second, he could swear he's seeing double. Redbird then, in his body armor and mask, flush from yet another assignment where they'd run into each other, opposite goals in mind, and stopping each other had turning into chasing each other halfway across yet another city.

And Redbird now, in a red hoodie with a bandanna around his neck (surprisingly low-tech for him) and that's _his face_ , completely bare now. The only other time he's ever seen it was in a darkened hotel room they'd tumbled into together--he doesn't even remember if it was his room or Redbird's, or even how they ended up there--where he'd been far, far too preoccupied with hands, lips, and skin to pay much attention to his face.

It was two years ago, he realizes with a jolt. Two years ago they were in that hotel room together, only weeks before he'd run from St. Hadrian's in the dead of night and had Bruce save his skin. Then there'd been no more chases all over the world.

He can't deny he missed it, how often he'd seemed to run into one particular assassin during his days with Spyral.

Here, in the dim light from the streetlights, an answering grin spreads over that face, the shadows playing across it practically overlapping with what he remembers from inside that dim little hotel room.

"That's not my name anymore, Agent 37," is all Redbird says, taking one step closer to Dick.

Dick takes one step back. "That's not my name anymore either, Redbird. Or should I be calling you Red Hood now?" he asks, several pieces slotting neatly into place. Though why he went after Tim and Steph he can't even begin to guess right now.

Redbird, who's definitely the Red Hood now, shrugs, unconcerned. "At least you recognized me there. Good job."

And he can't help but grin when Hood steps forward again, and again, old, familiar movements retreaded. Well, far be it from him to deny him what he's getting at, even if it means playing at the mouse this time. And even if it means he'll be getting to his destination after Jennifer's bedtime, after all.

"Fancy seeing you here." Then he spins and grabs hold of the fire escape to haul himself up and gets to climbing before Hood can say another word. And he doesn't even need to look behind him to know Hood follows almost immediately after.

"I thought you were dead, _Nightwing_!" Hood calls after him, and the way he says his new name, like he's testing it out, sends a shiver up his spine. He can't even say he doesn't like it. "Then I heard you joined up with some League rejects. What the hell?"

Halfway up the fire escape, Dick pauses and tosses out a, "Your League?" over his shoulder before picking up his pace.

"The other League!" Hood scoffs. "S'not my League anymore anyway. I'm flying solo now, Wingster!"

And that's a revelation to tuck away for the moment, before he can let himself be distracted by it.

He doesn't pause when he reaches the rooftop, just sets off at a run across it, and it isn't long before he hears Hood's footsteps behind him. "You heard right! So what'd you do anyway?" he asks, whirling around when he's nearing the edge. "Go looking for everyone I work with to find me?"

"Hell no!" Hood laughs. "You think I knew you were gonna be here? That part's got nothing to do with you."

"Then what's it about? What do those two have to do with anything you do now?" Dick asks, then drops down onto the first balcony on this side of the building. Empty. Lucky him.

He waits until Hood's face peeks out over the edge above him, aims another grin at him, and the chase is on again, when he flips right on to the next one.

"Does it matter?" Hood calls after him when he drops down himself. "Can't a guy wanna see if his old Spyral pain in the ass really is alive? 'Cause, y'know, I heard you _really_ pissed Minos off."

"Me? We just disagreed a little! Mister Minos thought I shouldn't know some things, I thought I should. And he decided that meant he had to kill me!" he says cheerfully, but he recognizes the tactic for what it is. He'll have to try a different tactic of his own soon if he wants to find out what Tim and Steph have to do with anything.

"Same thing happen to Matron?" Hood asks, just as Dick's shimmying down near another balcony, closer to the ground. He hears a gasp from somewhere off to his left, probably someone out on their balcony, but he ignores it. It's no one who can catch up to him. "'Cause I haven't seen her anywhere either!"

"Don't know! Haven't seen her in years." Not technically a lie. It's not like he really has seen her with his own two eyes these last couple years.

He _is_ a little surprised Red Hood didn't seem to hear any rumors about Helena, if he heard about Dick, but hell, the guy could be lying for all he knows. He's never quite been able to figure him out, not to mention how much he's really telling him.

The moment his feet touch the ground, he sets off at a run again. But rather than keep running deeper into the city, he ducks into the next alley, a plan already forming in his head.

Dick lets Hood corner him at the far wall, far enough away from the street and deep enough in shadows that no one will catch sight of them, and grins up at him. Short and to the point.

He's still a little short on time, after all, questions or no questions.

"Giving up already?" Hood asks him, leaning in close enough, his mouth close enough, that Dick can feel his breath on his face.

Dick bites the inside of his cheek, holding back a shiver, and almost wishes he didn't know what those lips feel like on his skin. The way they feel when they're trailing down his neck, his shoulders.

Yeah. Not the time.

He looks away, just to gather himself a moment, but keeps the smile on. "Maybe you're just that fast and I'm just that out of practice, huh, Hood?"

Hood scoffs. "As if. You and me both know you haven't been letting yourself go or anything these last couple years. You _let_ me catch up to you."

"You got me there," Dick says, letting his grin widen. "Maybe I just missed you."

But Hood only snorts in answer, shaking his head. "Doesn't seem like you."

"You really think you know me so well?"

" _Maybe_ a little better than most," he says, the words full of more heat than he'd have expected even from Red Hood. "You gonna tell me what's really up?"

Dick's fingers twitch at his sides, but he clenches them tightly. Dangerous thoughts. But they were probably just as dangerous a few years ago, too.

"Maybe I will," he says, voice breathy. He looks up at Hood through his lashes. "But only because I like you so much, you know? Maybe that's why I let you catch up to me. Because I just... missed you. It's been two long, lonely years, after all."

Hood stares at him, eyes wide, then bursts into laughter. "Cute. Real cute. But you know I ain't buying it."

Dick raises his eyebrows, letting his smile turn smug. "I thought so, too." He tosses his head, letting his voice drop back to its usual tone. "So what are you doing now that you're not killing people for the al Ghuls anyway? Looking for something new?"

"You could say that," Hood murmurs. "It's _justice_."

Dick blinks. That sounded surprisingly earnest. And his gaze has turned dark, no longer that light, flirty thing he's used to. Not even a hint of that smile.

He doesn't like it.

"Well, you found me instead," he says carefully. "How's that for a trade-off?"

"Not bad, actually," Hood says, raising an eyebrow, though his shoulders are still stiff. "You kinda got something to do with it."

"What?"

Hood narrows his eyes at him. "So, _Nightwing_ ," he says, casual as you please. "You like your new job? Having a better time with the good old Bats than with Spyral?"

Dick's lips turn down in a frown. Just what is he getting at here? "Sure," he says lightly. "My boss isn't trying to kill me, so that's already a plus, right?"

"Uh huh, uh huh. So..." Hood licks his lips, his eyes meeting Dick's. "I guess my question is: how much do you really know about your boss, huh? You real sure you wanna be working for _Bruce_?"

Dick goes very still, and he thinks it might be sheer willpower that keeps him from outwardly reacting. But inside, he's reeling, casting back for anything, anything at all, that might have tipped Hood off. Very few people should know Bruce's name in connection to this kind of work. And most who do either work with him or used to work with him.

How does _Hood_ know? Even Ra's and Talia wouldn't tell just anyone, would they?

"Bruce?" Dick asks. "I think I might know a Bruce." No use lying about that much. Technically, he's lying low, but it wouldn't be hard for someone to spot him going into the Wayne Enterprises Building. "But I'm pretty sure I don't work for him, Hood."

"Cut the crap, Nightwing," Hood says, voice hard. "I know who's running your little operation. And I also know you've got no idea what Bruce is really capable of. You got no idea how easily he'd just leave you to rot if he had to."

Dick doesn't look away, though it feels like Hood's eyes are practically boring into him. "It's a tough business. You can't blame anyone for trying to save their own skin," he says, making an effort to keep his tone just as light as it has been. It's a lie anyway. Bruce, leave someone to rot? _Bruce_ was the only one who would bail him out when Spyral was after his head. No one else would have. "I don't."

Hood stares at him, leaning even closer, impossibly closer. "I don't think you really know him at all, 37," he says softly, and the name this time's probably him making some kind of point, and Dick thinks he might just know what it is.

But it doesn't matter how many pointed comments Hood makes. Whatever shared past they may have, he's made up his mind on this. "I think I'm learning, Hood. Just like I think I'm learning why you went after two of my co-workers."

"What?" He sees the moment realization dawns in Hood's eyes. "You're bringing up those brats again? Jesus, Wing, they shouldn't have even gotten themselves involved in this whole thing. I was just trying to show them that."

"Yeah, I don't think it really stuck."

"Look, forget them. I'm telling you this before _you_ go and get screwed over by him, Nightwing. Because we know each other," Hood says in response, more insistent this time.

Dick bites back the joke at the tip of his tongue. He's got better ways to bring that up. "In a manner of speaking," he says instead, and if it maybe comes out just a little more suggestive than he initially planned... Well, he's going to say it still doesn't count as bringing it up yet.

But Hood's so close to him, practically flush against Dick, that he absolutely _can't_ miss what Dick's getting at. Not when every moment has to be reminding him just as much as it's reminding Dick.

Dick drags himself back from the memories of wandering hands and heated skin back to the present, just in time to hear Hood say, "You don't believe me, do you?"

Dick flashes him a grin, tilting his head up. "I think I might need a little convincing, if you expect me to believe anything you tell me today," he lies.

He gives Hood just enough time for him to narrow his eyes at Dick in confusion, for his expression to turn uncertain ( _perfect_ ), before he surges forward to capture his lips in a kiss. He swallows Hood's gasp, but it isn't long before he's relaxing and kissing back.

It's rough, all heat and tongue and teeth. Hood bites at his lower lip, and Dick just presses in closer, deepening the kiss, and rests his hands at Hood's waist. He swallows the sound Hood makes at the back of his throat and, tightening his hands, holding on just a little tighter, rolls his hips against Hood's. And he can't remember the last time he heard a sound quite as gratifying as the way Hood breathes in sharply.

"So. I never asked," Hood gasps out, pulling away, though still so close all he can see is _him_. "You do this with all your marks? Or am I just special?"

Dick huffs out a laugh. "Nah, you're just special. I'm usually _so_ much more professional."

Honestly, he thinks just about everyone he used to know would be disappointed by _whatever_ it is he and Hood started three years ago, culminating in that night two years ago. But he was never very good at being as distant as Spyral wanted. Oh, he tried. He thinks he might have even believed it himself for a long while, while building distance between him and the other agents.

But it never really kept him from giving a shit.

And now? It's not just ulterior motives, it's not just a distraction. He leans into the way Hood's touching him, his hands at Dick's shoulders, slowly trailing down, his chest flush against his. And he's not even sure whether he's disappointed or not that tonight can't be a repeat of that night.

Because he'll have to put a stop to this soon, and remember why he initiated things this time, and where he still has to go. There have to be _some_ ulterior motives. There always have to be in this line of work and he still needs time to _think_ , to go over whatever Hood's warning is supposed to mean, and just why he went after Tim and Steph. Even if he thinks he's gone past the point of caring about what he should be doing with Hood, to the confused tangle in his chest. 

It's Hood who presses his lips to Dick's this time, and Dick lets himself kiss back for longer than he knows he should. He lets himself melt into the kiss and he almost, almost, lets himself get lost in it.

But he pulls away just enough to turn them around, so Hood's the one pressed against the wall. And he gives himself one more moment, and another, before he pulls away again, braces himself, and stops and shoves away from Hood, hard. He ducks out of the alley then, looking over his shoulder for long enough to throw out one last cheery "See ya next time!"

By the time he reaches the bus spot he'd gotten sidetracked from, he's kind of disappointed to find that Hood doesn't follow him, or even yelled anything after him.

-

Dick's heart no longer feels like it's about to beat right out of his chest when he gets to where he needs to be.

Lucas Trent lives in an apartment building in a nice enough part of town, but no one challenges him as he enters the building though, or as he gets on the elevator. And that works just fine for him. Though he's not going to forget who he's looking for. He wouldn't be surprised if he's keeping an eye somehow on who comes and goes anyway.

He makes it to the right door easily enough. One, two, three knocks later, he hears a voice from inside, a quick "Hold on, I'll be right there!"

A blond man opens the door--the husband, judging by the file he studied--and Dick gives him the most charming smile he can muster. "I take it you're Mister Pulaski?" he asks politely. "Sorry to bother you this late in the day, but is your husband around? I have to talk to him about, well, work."

Pulaski only gives him a curious look, but just as he opens his mouth to speak, another man steps into the entryway, a little girl peering curiously around his legs.

"So, who is it?" the man asks before he's glanced over at Dick. Dick freezes and, as the man speaks up again, considers turning right back around and maybe heading straight to Gotham to pick a fight with Bruce. "It's not the same goddamn--"

Dick can pinpoint the exact second the so-called Lucas Trent finally gets a good look at him by the way he cuts himself off, if the way he immediately marches right up to the doorway, leaving the little girl looking on in confusion, weren't obvious enough. "You've gotta be kidding me. You?!"

"Me," Dick says dully, blinking up at the man whose voice he's only ever heard from behind a mask before, but who's entirely too familiar. No real name found in Spyral's files. Sometimes Black Oak. Sometimes someone he jokingly called his frenemy, much to Helena's disapproval. More often than not... "Midnighter."

Shit. There is absolutely no way Bruce didn't know who Trent--no, Midnighter--used to work for, or just what organization he tended to run into most of all. Shit.

And Midnighter _laughs_ , just laughs at Dick, like some ex-Spyral agent didn't just come barging into his apartment.

When he glances past Midnighter, he finds the husband doesn't look surprised in the slightest. And neither does the daughter, for that matter.

So Dick buries his face in his hands and sighs. Loudly.

 _Bruce_.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to Jason for naming him after Tim's car. ...And that one name Damian used that one time lmfao. It was for a good cause, I swear!
> 
> This fic, that honestly just kind of materialized out of nowhere, is definitely just me being incredibly self-indulgent. And, ngl, it's been a lot of fun to write! If anyone's interested, I do intend to write a continuation for it, too. Eventually. I won't leave you hanging there forever, I promise.
> 
> Soooo thank you for reading! ♥


End file.
